


Every Captive Heart: Inferno

by baixue88



Series: Every Captive Heart [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cussing, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kidnapping, Literary References & Allusions, Older Man/Younger Woman, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baixue88/pseuds/baixue88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate ending to "Endgame": a disgraced Noatak escapes with both Tarrlok and Korra as his prisoners.  Tarrlok now must navigate between the expectations of his long-lost brother and protecting the girl who might be his only ticket home.</p><p>Rating may go up in future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“In the middle of our life’s journey_  
 _I found myself in a dark wood_  
 _For the true way had been lost.” (Dante, Inferno I, 1-3)_

 

The isle first appeared as a distant spot on the horizon, blurred and gray in the dense, cold haze.  The closer they came, the better Tarrlok could make it out: a small lump of land covered in dense forest, with a rocky, unwelcoming shore.  Not quite his idea of the perfect deserted island getaway – there was a conspicuous lack of white sandy beaches, coconut trees, and splashing fountains – but, of course, a vacation was likely not what was on Noatak’s mind.

His brother killed the motor as they approached and guided the little speedboat toward a small break, where the rocks parted to reveal a concealed little dock.  He moved the boat close alongside it and leapt the small distance before tying the boat fast to one of the dock’s rotting little posts.

Tarrlok stood, but stayed still and watched his brother carefully.  “What’s this?”

“Backup plan,” Noatak replied.  “We wait here until my supporters from the Fire Nation come to pick us up.  There’s a bunker further inland.  We’ll wait there.”

Tarrlok had to try hard to keep his lip from curling.  “Forgive me, brother, but you’re sure you’ll get a ride out of here?  Maybe none will come, now that your theater make-up’s been washed off.”

Noatak’s eyes hardened, and in instinct – how far back did that instinct reach? – Tarrlok flinched.  Nothing came.  “Amon was more than just a disguise, Tarrlok,” Noatak whispered instead.  “He was an idea.  If there’s any who still believe in that idea – and there will be – they will come and find me.”  He reached back into the boat and pulled out a couple of crates.  “Bring the girl and follow me.”

Tarrlok turned and looked down at where she lay, her long brown hair in a loose, tangled mess and her skin a sickly grey color.  Her arms and legs were bound; at first, it had only been her hands, but she’d kicked hard and, later, had tried to jump off the boat.  For the last day and a half of their journey, though, she’d been still and silent, the only sound coming from her an occasional choked sob.  Normally, he’d hate her for weeping – he hated it when women cried – but he no longer felt normal.  He even felt a bit like crying himself.  He couldn’t, though, especially not in front of Noatak.

Without a word, he bent down and began to work at the bonds around her feet with his stiff, cold fingers.  She’d raged when they first tied her up, calling them every name under the sun, and then after a while she’d begun to curse Tarrlok for his treachery.  That had been the hardest part, especially when he’d felt Noatak’s eyes on him, cold and judgmental.  Eventually, except for that occasional sobbing noise, Korra had simply retreated inside herself.  He’d been grateful for that.  His head wouldn’t stop pounding, and her noise made it all the worse.  He only wanted her to be quiet, to stop fighting.  He was tired.

He was also grateful that she’d never begged.  A weeping woman was bad enough.  A begging one, well, that was too much.

The bonds around her ankles finally came loose, and for the first time Korra seemed to notice Tarrlok there at all.  She jerked back, pushing herself as far away as she could.

“Don’t you touch me!” She hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly.  “Don’t you fucking touch me, you fucking traitor!”

Tarrlok wanted very badly to hit her right then, but he let the feeling roll past.  He was too tired.  All he managed was a frown as he reached down and forcibly pulled her to her feet.  Korra’s knees buckled under her for a moment, but he kept a firm grip on her arm and held her until she found her balance.  She stumbled again getting out of the boat, regained her footing without his help, and when he relinquished his grasp for a moment, she took her opportunity.

She caught him off his guard, but that was her only advantage: lying at the bottom of a boat for the better part of two days had done its damage.  Her feet were heavy on the ground and her legs were stiff.  Tarrlok caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight up against his chest.  She struggled, but it was a feeble effort.

“Don’t,” he muttered into her ear.  “Please.  Don’t make this harder on me.”

“Harder on _you_?” She snarled.  “ _Fuck_ you, Tarrlok.  _Fuck_ you.”

She came quietly after that, though.

Noatak had gone ahead – after all, he had the key to the boat, and where could his captives go now? – but the path inland was easy enough to find, cutting gently up the wooded hill.  Tarrlok kept one hand locked tight on Korra’s arm and pushed her ahead of him up the steady incline.  Noatak was waiting for them at the top, standing next to an open trap door.  With a curt jerk of his head, he gestured for Tarrlok to descend with Korra.  Korra balked at the edge of the bunker’s stairs, but a nudge got her moving again.  Keeping the girl in front of him – he was not keen on being pushed down the stairs – Tarrlok descended into the black.

 --

For a short time, there was only the sound of his and Korra’s breathing, and the warmth of her in front of him.  Then a generator clicked to life, and the inside of the bunker was illuminated.

It was clearly designed with both the possibility of a long stay and the hope of a short stay.  The interior was entirely utilitarian – shelves bolted to the wall with supplies and bedrolls, a small woodstove with a pipe that went up through the ceiling of the bunker, the generator and lamp, and nothing more.  Tarrlok glanced around in search of a possible weapon, but all he could see was a flare gun.

 _Well, that might work_.

“There’s an outhouse down the other side of the hill,” said Noatak from behind him.  As if reading Tarrlok’s thoughts, he stepped over to the shelf where the flare gun lay and slipped it into his belt.  “We have enough supplies to last us for one, maybe two months, but I highly doubt it will take that long.”

Korra had gone rigid at the first sound of his voice.  Her gaze was fixed on the ground.  Noatak looked over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching, and took a step toward her.

Tarrlok’s hand was still on her arm.  He felt a tremor rock her like an earthquake.

Noatak reached out, grasped her chin between his fingers, turned her head up so he could see her face.  Her eyes were squeezed shut.  Another tremor.

“As for you, Avatar, you’ll be good while we wait, won’t you?”

No answer.  He pinched her cheeks harder, giving her head a little shake.

“ _Won’t_ you?”

She was shaking hard by this point.  Tarrlok gave her arm a squeeze, willing her to answer.

 _It will stop when you say ‘yes.’  Just do it._ Do _it._

“I’ll be good,” she croaked finally, her voice barely audible.  “I’ll be good.”

Noatak released his grip and stepped back again, but Korra did not stop shaking.

 --

Noatak put Tarrlok to work immediately, sending him out to get buckets of water while he made stock of the supplies.  Noatak was about to send Korra out too, but the girl was deathly pale and still didn’t seem to have her strength back. 

“She looks ill, Noatak,” Tarrlok said quietly.  “Let her stay here and rest for a little while.  She’s been through a lot.”

Noatak’s lips curled in sarcasm.  “Oh, yes, I’m _very_ inclined to have pity on the _Avatar_.”

“Not the Avatar any more,” Tarrlok reminded him.  “Just a girl now.  A tired, frightened girl.  Please, just let her be for a little while.”

Noatak turned and looked over at where Korra had slumped against the bunker wall with her head on her knees.  When he turned back to Tarrlok, his blue eyes had lost a margin of their hardness.  “Fine.  She can rest.  Go get some water for me to distill.”

Tarrlok had to bite back a cutting remark at that.  Salt water distillation was one of the earliest tricks benders learned when they lived on the seaside.  _Even_ Amon _needs his bending to get the salt out of his drink.  Noatak, you holy hypocrite!_

It was amazing, though, how automatically obedience came to him, how easy it was to keep his bitter thoughts to himself.  Without a word, Tarrlok took the cheap metal buckets and ascended the stairs to the outside world.

It wasn’t until he was breathing in the cold, salty air that he noticed Korra had followed.  She had come up so quietly behind him that he nearly jumped when he turned and saw her there, but the look on her face made him close his mouth before he could say anything.  Her eyes were downcast in shame, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her rage. 

Tarrlok turned away from her and walked down toward the sea, and she followed at a short distance.

Filling the buckets was unnatural.  He had to lean down to get water in a way that made his back twinge, and after a certain point the water seemed to flow out of the buckets at the same time as it flowed in.  Every muscle screamed at him to bend, just to _bend_ , but the water was dead and lifeless under his hands.  The ocean – that great mother heartbeat that he’d felt from the day of his birth – was cold and empty and he suddenly felt like a man newly divorced, lying alone in a two-person bed.  He stood with the imperfectly-filled buckets straining his arms, staring out at the water, the waves lapping at his boots, and he felt nothing.  The water _qi_ had gone, as if it were erased from all existence.  As if _he_ was erased.  All the color had been drained and he was a ghost.

He only remembered Korra when she suddenly took a bucket from one of his now-screaming arms.  She looked up at him, and then back out at the sea.

“Everything’s dead,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied.  “It’s so quiet.”

“It was worse on the boat.”

Tarrlok snorted.  “No, it wasn’t.  When we were on the boat, we weren’t _here_ yet.”

“If being here is so bad, you could have at least put up a fucking fight,” she muttered, and the accusation in her voice was too much for him to stand.

“Don’t think I didn’t want to, _Avatar_ Korra,” he shot back, when she flinched he felt a surge of gratification.  “The only way to fight would have involved all of us dying on that boat.  Believe me.  I had half a week to think about it.  Would you rather be dead?  Is that it?”

“There has to be another way.”

“Well, then, I’m _sure_ you’ll think of it, considering how fearless and clear-headed you are in his presence.  Let me know if you come up with any good plans.”  With that, Tarrlok shoved past her and trudged back up the hill, leaving the unfeeling sea behind.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Tarrlok dreamed of monsters.

He heard their roars close at his heels as he ran up the twisted path, his bare feet catching on the tangled roots.  Stones cut into his feet and he cried out in pain but he couldn’t stop, no matter how hard it was to see and no matter how the thorns around him caught and ripped at his clothes.  Slowing down would be death.

But they were all around him in the wood: he could see their yellow eyes flashing at him from the shadows.  No matter how fast he moved, they were closing in.  They would have him soon.  A breath of hot air brushed against his calf as a pair of jaws snapped down and missed – but only by a margin.

And then, before he could even see it, there was a log in the path and he went down and teeth sank into his legs, his arms, his sides.

He awoke all at once, and for a moment thought their fangs were still in him; his sides were screaming and his calf muscles felt like they were curling up under his skin.  He clutched at his side and struggled into a sitting position, the cheap military-style woolen blanket crumpling onto his lap.  Wincing, he leaned over and gently began to massage his legs. 

 _Noatak’s backup had better get here soon_ , he thought bitterly.  _Sleeping on the floor like this is going to kill me._

There was still one lamp turned on, and it cast a dim light over the interior of the bunker.  Tarrlok glanced over at where Noatak lay a few feet away from him, directly in front of the stairs.  Noatak was lying facing inward, and though he was breathing slowly, Tarrlok was positive that he’d wake as soon as someone tried to step over him.  At any rate, the bunker was locked from the inside, and the key was on a little chain around Noatak’s neck alongside the key to the boat. 

Across the room, Korra squeezed herself into a corner as far away from Noatak as possible.  She’d laid out her bedroll before sleeping, but instead of lying down, she’d pushed her back up against the wall and sat there, watching, until both Noatak had fallen asleep.  He’d figured that she’d bolt as soon as Noatak closed his eyes, but she didn’t seem intent on moving – instead she’d just sat and watched until Tarrlok finally felt his own exhaustion take over and let himself drift away.

He could still see her sitting there in the corner, but from this distance she was only a dark shape in even deeper shadows, still sitting with her back to the corner.  He sat and looked for a long time, trying to discern if she was still awake, but if she was she said nothing. 

The air in the bunker had grown muggy and stale.  Tarrlok glanced around for a clock, but there was nothing.  No light came in through the trapdoor, and he felt his stomach clench at the realization that he wouldn’t know even roughly what time of day it was until Noatak opened that door.  At home, he’d always known exactly what time it was.  There were chimes every hour from the big belltowers to the water-clocks in his bedroom and home office and at work.  Everything was clearly laid out in his day book: all his plans, down to the contents of each meal. 

And then all of it had gone straight to shit the very moment he had chosen to kidnap Korra. 

 _No_ , he had to admit to himself, _it went to shit earlier than that.  It went to shit the moment she set foot in my city._

And yes, he’d done wrong by her.  Immense wrong.  He’d used her as bait and goaded her and then, on top of it all, attacked her when her power became a big enough threat.

 _But_ , said the small, venomous little voice in the back of is head, _if she’d stayed in her place…._

 _But,_ it suggested again, _if she’d been more willing to learn…._

 _But_ , it said a final time, _if she’d managed to defeat Noatak…._

Tarrlok’s stomach twisted a little, and he shoved those thoughts away.  From what he could tell, Korra had done everything she could to vanquish his brother.  Noatak had told him a few details on the boat: she and Mako had teamed up against him, but he’d finally robbed Korra of her bending.  He’d been about to do the same to Mako, but the girl had tackled him bodily, sending both Noatak and Korra crashing out the window and into the bay outside.  He’d escaped – dragging her with him – but not before the populace saw his true nature. 

Of course, Tarrlok hadn’t needed Noatak to tell him how he’d taken bending from the Avatar herself.  He’d seen it the moment Noatak came back to his cell with Korra in tow.  The girl was empty, like a cracked clay pot.   Everything she had ever been was gone – erased with a gentle touch to the head. 

Just like him, really – except that he had himself to blame for that, at least in part.  Ultimately, it did come down to him.  He’d lost his temper and ruined his career over a little girl.  Losing his bending was only the finishing blow. 

For Korra, though, everything was wrapped up in her bending.  Everything.  How could someone be Avatar without bending?  Without it, she was just stripped down to a bare girl.

She did not, so far as Tarrlok could see, have any merits that did not rest upon bending.  She was hot-headed, violent, stubborn, and lacking in all subtlety.  These served her well as a fighter, of course – they had worked quite well together on Equalist raids – and her ferocity was unmatched in combat.  He’d seen her incredible ability first-hand.  One could say she was made to fight.

Now, though, all this was nearly useless.  The supreme tool she used in combat had been ripped away from her.  Without it, she was nothing more than an undisciplined, graceless, foolhardy and spoiled child.  Avatar Korra was nearly unbeatable.  Girl Korra, well…

Girl Korra was nothing at all.

 

He waited at least another hour or so, trying with no success to get back to sleep, but his muscles were all screaming and he couldn’t find a way to lie on the ground without considerable pain.  Finally, he fumbled for his shoes and his tattered blue jacket and tugged them on. 

“Noatak,” he whispered, touching his brother lightly on the shoulder.  “Noatak, I need to get outside for a bit.”

Noatak came out of sleep fluidly, with no gasps or jumps or yawns.  One moment asleep, the next awake.  He was still able to do that, after all these years.  Just like when they were children. 

“Is the girl awake?” He murmured as he sat up, casting a glance at her corner.

“I don’t think so.”

Noatak shrugged at that, but stood and, stretching his own limbs, unlocked the door to the outside world.

Dawn was just breaking, and the misty world was full of a pale, ghostly light.  Tarrlok breathed deep of the cool, wet air, his lungs grateful to be out of the closed-in bunker walls.  Noatak stood on the stairs just below him, his eyes closed in pleasure at the light breeze.

“It’d be better if we camped out here,” Tarrlok suggested after watching his brother’s face for a moment.  “It’s certainly nicer, and the weather won’t be half bad if this fog breaks.”

Noatak opened his eyes and frowned, doubtful.  “I don’t know.”  He glanced back into the darkness of the bunker below him. 

“She can’t escape,” Tarrlok reminded him gently.  “She can’t really do anything, anymore.  Inside or outside.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Nor should you.  But you _can_ trust me when I say that she’s not bright enough to find a way off this island without her bending.  I worked with the girl, remember?  She’s all bluster, no brains.  You’ve seen it yourself.”

“Hmm.”  Noatak stood still and silent for so long that Tarrlok was about to give up and leave for the out-house.  “I’ll consider it,” he said finally.  He looked up at the sky and frowned at the fog.

Tarrlok nodded, satisfied, and turned to go down the western side of the hill to relieve himself.  He did so quickly and quietly behind the out-house itself, all the while keeping an eye on the trees around him.  Then, casting one last glance about him, he went further down to the shore and jogged around until he came back to eastern part of the island.  The boat was still there – part of him had been afraid of it vanishing over-night – and, glancing repeatedly back up the wooded path, he crept over to it.

Without the key, it was impossible to read the gas meter and see how much was left inside, but with a bit of hunting, he found a short stick of driftwood lodged in the boulders near the dock.  He went to the back of the boat, unscrewed the gas tank lid and stuck it in, his fingers crossed as he waited.  When he pulled it back out, he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming.  Instead, he flung the driftwood as hard as he could out into the ocean.  The gas had only stained about an inch of it; his brother had used up nearly every drop getting them here.

Hot-wiring the boat and escaping quietly was, as he’d feared, entirely out of the question.  There was gas on the island: he’d seen some little red barrels of it sitting near the generator.  Getting them out from under Noatak’s watchful eye, though…well, that would be asking the impossible without overcoming him physically.

And overcoming a blood-bender would be no easy task.

Grinding his teeth, Tarrlok jogged back around the island and up to the out-house.  Once there, he opened and then slammed its door as if he’d just exited, and after waiting one extra beat to be certain, ascended the hill at a normal pace, trying to ignore the nagging stitch in his side.  He could feel a headache coming on, too, and suddenly he just wanted to go back to sleep – on the floor or not.

He was turning his frustration over and over in his head when he heard the scream, echoing down the fog-shrouded hill.  Tarrlok broke into a run, clutching at his lower ribs as he raced up the remainder of the hill and nearly tumbled down the bunker stairs.

Korra was doubled over in pain, her arms twisted grotesquely around behind her.  She was still screaming, but it had diminished into a choking, barely-audible whimper that was squeezed out of her lungs as if a gigantic fist was closing around her.

“What is going _on_?”

“Little bitch tried to slit my throat with a kitchen knife,” growled Noatak.  He jerked his wrist, and Korra’s body jerked in response, another whimper creeping up out of her throat.  “I had _thought_ you were going to be good,” he hissed at the girl.  “I had _thought_ you promised me.”

Tears were spilling over her cheeks as she raised her head, her face distorted in a silent plea.

“That’s enough, Noatak,” Tarrlok murmured.  “I think she’s learned her lesson.”  He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Noatak’s lips twitched into a grimace, but he dropped the blood-bending hold.  Korra collapsed hard onto the floor, shuddering and gasping, tears and mucus mixing on her cheeks.  He sighed, and smoothed his short brown hair back off his forehead, which glistened with sweat.

“I think it’s better,” his brother said after a long, measured pause, “if you keep her by your side.  Watch her.  I don’t have the patience for any more foolish attacks by a powerless _child_.”

He reached up and touched his neck, and Tarrlok noticed with a shock the splash of red that came away on his fingers.  He bent and picked up the little kitchen knife laying near his feet and saw the barely-visible speck of blood on the ill-made blade.  He glanced over at the shelves, and saw a box marked “cooking” opened just wide enough for someone small – a teenaged girl, maybe – to reach in and pull something out.

Tarrlok wiped the blade clean and handed the knife to his brother.

“I think I will be sleeping outside from now on.” Noatak placed the knife back in the proper box.  “I need to watch the sky.

Tarrlok, I am going to trust you to keep her in line.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was no getting used to it: the feeling of someone sliding into your skin and using you like a doll, your every nerve and muscle screaming in agony at the _alien_ -ness of it.  Korra’s world became compressed down into her veins as Amon shoved his way in with her.  Her entire body shuddered and jerked, trying on instinct to get rid of the invader, but it only made things worse because the invader wasn’t inside, not really, and this was the kind of invasion that couldn’t be stopped.  Her blood was thundering in her ears and there was an unbearable pressure on her diaphragm, shoving down harder and harder until she was sure every bit of air would be forced from her lungs.

The whole world had shrunk down to just her and Amon, and he was smothering her.

Distantly, she heard Tarrlok’s voice, and she managed to just barely lift her head enough to cry out for his help – or she would have, if she’d had a voice to cry with.  Tarrlok was only a blurred shape in front of her; she could not focus her eyes, not without Amon’s permission.

But then Amon released her.  He vanished from inside her and the world expanded back into its original shape and her lungs filled with air once more.

Korra’s knees hit the concrete floor hard and she slumped over onto her side, her eyes and nose streaming.  Her muscles were all jerking and twitching uncontrollably as feeling returned to them.  It was pins and needles, but flooding every sensation, in every muscle at once.  She knew they’d be aching the next day, the same way she had after Tarrlok blood-bent her.  Still, the aches would be a relief after this.

Footsteps on the stairs, then silence.  Korra let herself slip into darkness.

 

When her senses returned, someone was pressing a wet, lukewarm towel to her forehead.  Korra groaned and opened her eyes a slit to see Tarrlok’s fuzzy profile above her.  With effort, she sat up.  Her stomach was quivering with nausea, and for a moment she thought she was going to vomit, but she put her head between her knees and it slowly passed.  She couldn’t have been out very long; her muscles were still twitching.  That, or Noatak’s bending had been even more severe than she’d thought – far worse than what Tarrlok had done to her.

Tarrlok himself was still kneeling next to her, one hand on her arm. 

“There we go,” he was saying, his voice a low murmur.  “You’re fine.  You’ll be okay.”

She’d panicked when she’d woken up and found him gone.  He wasn’t exactly an ally, but being left alone in that small space with Amon…

He had been sitting on the bunker stairs when she awoke.  Her neck was screaming from sleeping sitting up, but she’d frozen in place anyway.  The light shining down from the open doorway had cast his face in shadow, but she’d _known_ his eyes were on her.  She could feel them tracing her skin, her veins.  She’d pushed back into the corner like some terrified animal, trying to make herself as small as possible, wishing she could sink into the very cracks of the wall.  She hadn’t dared breathe.  She hadn’t dared _blink_.

And then Amon had stood, and she’d raised her hands into a water-bending form, but no water rose at her command and she was left alone, so alone as he came closer and closer.  Her hands had remained stretched out in front of her as he’d finally stopped, looming above her with all his imposing height.  His mask was gone but his naked face was just as still and impassive, and his eyes burned with the same inhuman hate.

There he’d stood, for what seemed like ten, fifteen minutes (though she knew it couldn’t have possibly been that long).  He’d stood and gazed down at her and she’d watched his hands hanging loose at his sides, anticipating that moment when his fists would clench inside her veins and the pain would begin anew.

But they hadn’t moved; they’d remained at his sides and he’d just stood there until, finally, he’d whispered, “You won’t escape.”

It was not a command or a question.  It was an observation. 

He’d turned and walked away, going to sort through some boxes of supplies he’d brought up from the boat.

That was when Korra had seen the box near her bed, only an arm’s reach away, labeled “cooking.”

She still wasn’t sure what madness had seized her, but somewhere deep down she’d decided to show Amon what his observations were worth.  For a few brief moments, she’d thought it might actually be possible to slit the man’s throat and fly out of here.  But he was too fast for her, too aware of his surroundings, and he already had his fingers in her blood by the time her knife had touched his throat.

The worst thing had been when Tarrlok had come in and found them.  The memory of it was coming back slowly, hazy as if she’d seen it through a thick fog: he’d kept his face so carefully passive, but she’d seen disgust fill his gray eyes before he’d looked away. 

She hadn’t been sure where that disgust was directed, but then she’d seen him pick up her knife through her blurred, fading vision.  _Stab him!_   She’d wanted to scream, but her lungs felt crushed and she felt too weak to move her mouth.  _Just fucking stab him!  He’s right there!_

But instead Tarrlok had just wiped the blade off and handed it to Amon, with no hesitation whatsoever, and cursing him, she’d curled up into her own pain.

But now he was leaning over her, his solid weight next to her a firm anchor, his hand on her arm preventing her from curling back up on the floor and going back into the darkness again.  The darkness would be so much easier, so she held onto that touch, as much as she hated it.  She couldn’t slip away again, not with Amon somewhere nearby. 

Korra stayed sitting up like that for a long time, her head on her knees with Tarrlok gently holding onto her arm.  She tried as hard as she could to focus on her heartbeat, steadying it like she’d learned from Tenzin. 

It took a very long time for her to feel grounded enough to lift her head.  She looked around at Tarrlok, who was sitting beside her, his eyes tense.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.  Her lungs felt sore, as if they still couldn’t hold much air.

“You ever pull a stunt like that again, you might not be.”

She pulled away from him.  Suddenly his touch wanted to make her scream.  “At least I’m trying to find a way to get out of here,” she hissed.

“Was _that_ what you were doing?” He sneered.  “It seemed more like an elaborate way to commit suicide, going up against a fully-grown blood-bender with only a dull kitchen knife.”

“I nearly got him.  Another inch and-”

“There was never going to _be_ another inch, Korra,” Tarrlok said, his voice tired.  He stood and picked up the ‘cooking’ box and began to rummage through it in the dim half-light, looking at the various utensils inside.  “You should count it as a miracle that you even nicked him.”  He closed the box back up, and turned toward the stairs.  “I’m going to bring these up to Noatak.  Stay right there.”

She didn’t stay right there.  As soon as he turned toward the stairs, she was on her feet, her blood enflamed and her vision red.  Her world began to tilt as soon as she was up, but she charged him anyway, stumbling into an all-out run until she slammed pell-mell into him and sent them both toppling to the floor.  The ‘cooking’ box flew from his hands, its contents spilling out across the concrete with a clatter.

“Fucking traitor!”  She tried to roar, though it came out half-whispered and raw.  “You piece of shit!”  She punched at him, but her muscles were still made of jelly and she couldn’t seem to make any kind of impact.  “You don’t even care!  You’re not even _resisting_!  You’re fucking _helping_ him!”

With some difficulty, he managed to push her off of him and shoved her down onto his sleeping mat.  She struggled the whole way, but he was more than able to overpower her in this state.  Once she was down on the floor, Tarrlok grabbed her by the front of her shirt and pressed his face in so close that their noses were almost touching.  She tried to pull back, but his grip was firm, and she couldn’t move.

“You listen to me, Avatar Korra,” he snarled, “you are a _very_ valuable person -even without your bending - and I am going to make sure you stay alive no matter _what_ kind of stupid, idiotic kind of death wish you have.  So you are going to _sit down_ and _stop struggling_ and _let me try to get through this_ with as few risks as possible.”

She froze for an instant, stunned by his ferocity, but her surprise soon dissolved into disgust and she had to swallow back the urge to spit in his face. 

“ _I’m truly sorry,”_ he’d said to her, back on AirTempleIsland.

 _He’s never been sorry in his_ life _._

“You’re just scared, Tarrlok.  Every time someone backs you into a corner, you change your skin like a chameleopard!  I thought maybe you’d changed, but you’re the same weasel-snake you’ve always been.  Well, if you really think that protecting me will get you out of jail when we get home, you’d better think twice!”

For a moment, he looked so furious that she was sure she was going to hit her, but instead he slowly let go of her shirt, stood up, and began gathering up the spilled utensils.  She didn’t bother trying to get up to stop him – he was, she had to admit, right.  Kitchen knives wouldn’t be of any use against Amon.  She had to think bigger, and, in the meantime, she could let Tarrlok think she was cooperating.

Fine, she’d wait.  She could think of something – she was sure of it. 

But if Tarrlok ever grabbed her like that again, she decided, she’d claw his eyes out.


	4. Chapter 4

“Try and find dry sticks, caught in the tree branches,” Father said, reaching up to yank one loose from some of the bramble above his head.  “Any sticks on the ground will be soaked with snow and won’t burn as well.”  Noatak paused to watch his father, and then headed deeper into the brush, looking around attentively.  At home, they always had the firewood that Father chopped himself, but out here they didn’t have anything.

“Father,” he said, suddenly remembering, “did you chop enough wood for mother and Tarrlok to keep warm?”

“Sure I did!  You don’t think I’d leave them stuck in the cold, do you?”  Father grinned, and pulled up a short branch half-submerged in snow.  He snapped it in half and nodded in satisfaction at the _crack_.  “Don’t worry, kiddo, your old man’s thought of everything.”

Noatak bit his lip and looked up at the trees.  The branches all seemed to be the same but – there.  He grabbed at one that seemed to be hanging a little funny and pulled.  It gave, but only a little.  Something was stuck.  He grasped onto it with both hands and gave it a yank.  More movement, but not enough.  It was lodged tight in the branches above his head.

Suddenly, Father was behind him, easily pulling the stubborn stick from its resting place in the branches.  He handed it to Noatak with a wink.  “Maybe stick to stuff more within your reach, huh?”

When the two had collected enough firewood, they trundled with arms full out of the wood and out to where they’d left their tackle on the surface of the frozen lake.  Father sent Noatak to work building a fire right away while he began to saw a hole in the ice.  Noatak wasn’t afraid of fire at all; one of the first things Father had ever taught him when he took him out fishing was how to build a fire.  “This is the most important thing you have to learn out here in the wild, boy,” he’d said.  “Maybe a fire-bender can conjure up a flame in a pinch, but we in the water tribe have to learn the hard way – even if we’re the ones who need it most!”

It was easy, once you knew how.  Stack the logs and sticks like a little doll’s hut, stuff it with dry tinder like birch bark and dead grasses, and then strike the flint – and a crackling fire in no time.  He sat back to admire his handiwork just as Father finished sawing the hole.

“Great job, kiddo.  Now get over here and put some bait on your hook.”

After that, all they had to do was wait.  Occasionally, Father would carefully hand his line to Noatak to hold and go over to the fire to brew some hot tea for the both of them.  Noatak held his tea mug between his knees, relishing the warmth seeping into his heavy woolen trousers.

“Father,” he said after a while, hesitant, “I’m…I’m glad Tarrlok isn’t here.  I’m glad it’s just us.”

Father chuckled at that.  “I guess you must miss being the only son, huh?  Well, we can still have our trips, just the two of us.  Just like old times, right?”

Noatak grinned.  “Right!”

“Now, if only something would take a bite.  I sure don’t want to resort to those canned beans for dinner.”

And it was then that Noatak felt it – the shimmery flick of something sliding through water.  He felt it coming up, right beneath them, waves parting for a new presence.

“There’s a fish coming!”  He whispered in excitement, and moments later something began to tug on his line.  He jerked his head up, beaming at Father.

He had never seen that look on Father’s face before.  Father was gazing at him as if he were a stranger, almost, or someone he couldn’t _quite_ recognize.  But then the look was gone, and he was smiling back. 

“That’s great, son!  That’s great.”

 

Noatak pulled a box of matches from his pocket and struck one.  Cupping his hand, he shielded it against the damp air and held it close to the dry leaves and twigs.  They took light quickly enough, and soon he had a small fire blazing.  He sat back and warmed his hands; the fog was only barely lifting, and if the cold persisted, it could be a rough night.  Still, it was better than having to deal with a half-mad girl. 

She was still yelling, even now.  He couldn’t make out any distinct words (nor did he care to), but she didn’t seem to be letting the pain of blood-bending slow her down.  _Even so, without her bending, it should be easy enough for Tarrlok to keep her in line.  He’s strong enough to handle her._

Within seconds, though, his brother came storming up the stairs and thrust the box of cooking supplies at him. 

“Here,” he snapped.  “It’s better to keep these out of _her_ reach.”

Noatak nodded and took them, a pang of guilt twisting his stomach.  “I’m sorry I’ve put you in charge of her, Tarrlok.  I just can’t watch her and build a signal fire at the same time.  There are far too many ways for her to cause trouble up here.”

“She’s not particularly pleasant in an enclosed space, either,” Tarrlok muttered.

“Still, brother.  Thank you.  I’m sure this wasn’t your idea of a new life, but when my people come to get us, you can relax a little more.”  He tried to smile encouragingly, but it felt so feeble.  The isle was cold, and the sky was still empty.

Tarrlok hesitated, but finally nodded.  “I…yes, brother.  I’m sure I can deal with her.”

_Always the same Tarrlok, so unsure of the world, so uncertain._

“Sit down,” he suggested. “You could use a little peace.”

Tarrlok hesitated again before finding a relatively clean spot to sit down.  “I found some dried noodles downstairs.  I hope we have enough to keep all three of us.”

“We do,” Noatak said firmly, stealing another glance at the empty sky.  “With a little rationing, we’ll do just fine.  Probably not quite what you’re used to with that _refined_ palate of yours.”

“I can’t help having good taste in food.”

“No, and neither, I suppose, could you help indulging in it while many non-benders barely make enough to survive.”

“I apologized for all that already, Noatak,” Tarrlok whispered tersely.  “I’m not sure how many more times I can repent.”

Noatak looked carefully at him across the fire.  Tarrlok’s face was lined with misery, his eyes hollow and distant, just as he’d looked the same in his cell the first time Noatak had come to visit him.  He’d expected his brother to scream and rail and threaten, but instead Tarrlok had just sat, hunched against the wall, his powerless hands limp in his lap.  Noatak hadn’t removed his mask, but that hadn’t been necessary.  Tarrlok had already known.

“I’d never imagined you were alive,” Tarrlok had said finally.

“That was the way I wanted it.”

“And you never reached out,” Tarrlok had lifted his head and gazed at him with an icy fury.  “Noatak, if I’d known – if I’d had _any_ idea it was you – so much trouble could have been avoided.  We could have reached an _agreement_ -!”

“There will be no agreement so long as benders are lifted up over non-benders.”

Tarrlok had swallowed hard and looked down at his hands.  “I understand.  I _understand_ that now, brother…but you could have reached out back then, made me understand back _then_.”

“And you’d have given up your bending willingly?  Tarrlok, I watched your policies very carefully.  Two days ago, you’d have told me to go to hell before you ever conceded to it.  Your own power was blinding you.”

Tarrlok had sat quietly after that for a very long time, and Noatak was nearly ready to turn and leave, when suddenly he’d whispered, “You’re right.  I did abuse my power.  I never once thought about how non-benders would be affected.  They only became a problem on my list.  An enemy.  I was put into power to protect them and I betrayed them.

Brother.  Noatak.  I am truly, truly sorry.”

Noatak had been frozen in place, his heart stopped.  He knew well enough to take everything that came out of his brother’s mouth with a grain of salt, but hearing those words – words he’d never dreamed his arrogant little brother would say – tumble out of Tarrlok’s mouth had pierced his heart with a sudden, bright joy.  Perhaps he hadn’t meant it…but if he _did_!  Noatak had been seized with the sudden vision of the two of them together again, bringing the world the harmony it so desperately needed.

Tarrlok was not beyond repentance.  He was not beyond salvation.

The exhilaration of it had choked him, closing his throat and squeezing his heart until he thought it would break.  He’d turned and left without another word to his brother and went out to the tower’s balcony to look out across the bay, trying desperately to calm himself.

His aspirations – all he’d been working for – had been so close, and the added hope of one day having his little brother at his side was almost too great a joy to bear.

He’d waited out there until he was calm again, and then went downstairs to rejoin his men.  He would save his rejoicing until he knew for sure that Tarrlok was truly changed.  _In the meantime_ , he’d thought to himself, _I’ll know I have hope._

And then the moment of truth had come.  Noatak had arrived back alone, his power stripped, his mask gone, Korra slung limp over his shoulder.

“I’m going to the Fire Nation,” he’d said to Tarrlok, who had stood and stared as if petrified.  “I have friends there.  I can rebuild there.  Will you come with me?”

Tarrlok had nodded wordlessly, and at that moment, Noatak had known that despite all he’d lost, he had his brother back.

As he’d steered the boat out of YueBay, he’d wept, silently praising the Spirits for the only gift that truly mattered.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak said now, his eyes tracing over his brother’s tired features.   _He looks so much like Mother_.  “It’s…very hard to trust people, after so many years of this.”

A wry smile curled the corners of Tarrlok’s mouth.  “Believe me, I know.”

“What…what happened to Father and Mother?”  The question bubbled up out of him as if he’d suddenly vomited up bile.  He tried to look at Tarrlok, but he couldn’t make himself, so he looked down at the burning coals at the heart of the fire, prodding at them with a stick.

Tarrlok went silent for what felt like an eternity.  When he finally spoke, his voice was icy: “Father drank himself to death, eventually.  A few years after you left.  It took him _too_ long, in my opinion.” 

 _Most men_ , Noatak supposed, _would probably feel regret at hearing such a thing_.  All he could register, though, was a deep lack of surprise.  The old man had always been too attached to drink, especially when he was training them. 

 _Especially_ when he was training them.

Noatak waited a moment for Tarrlok to continue, but his brother had gone silent. 

“And…Mother?”  He asked finally.

This time Tarrlok remained silent for so long that Noatak was almost tempted to repeat the question, but finally he spoke.

“Died a couple years after Father.  Doctor said her heart just gave out from strain.  Losing you, losing _him_ …she couldn’t handle it.”

Noatak poked the fire again, staring hard at the coals.  His stomach was tight as a knot.  _Somehow, I’d hoped…,_ but no, he’d known.  When Tarrlok had shown up in RepublicCity with no other family members to speak of and keeping to no real social circle (except for political allies and a string of disastrous relationships), somehow Noatak had known that their mother was long since out of the picture.

“I’m glad we’re back together again, after so long,” Noatak finally said.  “I’m so glad, Tarrlok.  I was never sure that you would be open to me, but I’m happy I was wrong.  It will be good to have you by my side again, as we were meant to be.”

He glanced up at his brother, who looked over at him and smiled, his eyes tired.

The knot in his stomach loosened.

“You _will_ have to tell me how you made that fortune of yours sometime,” he said. 

Tarrlok laughed.  “Oh, please.  You very well know how.”

The sound of Tarrlok’s laugh seemed to lift a weight from Noatak’s chest, and he smiled in full now.  “You could talk a tax-man into giving you gold.”  For a long moment, he looked very carefully at Tarrlok.  His little brother’s powers of persuasion had helped him to claw his way up from their measly little hometown to the Northern capital and, finally, to RepublicCity.  He was far more talented as a speaker than he ever was as a fighter, even when they were little. 

 _(“You shut your little shit mouth and practice!  You think I brought you out here to listen to you_ talk _?”)_

Noatak stirred the coals in the fire again.  When he looked up, Tarrlok was watching him thoughtfully.

“You know,” he said, “I used to listen _very_ carefully to when you took over the radio waves.  You’re not bad at convincing people either, brother.”

“ _You_ have a silver tongue,” Noatak corrected him.  “ _I_ just say what is already in people’s hearts.”  He chuckled a little, and then shrugged.  “If I had half your talent, we would never have needed to leave RepublicCity.”

Tarrlok’s mouth tightened a little.  “Yes, well, I doubt either of our oratorical powers could work on the Avatar.  She’s impressively closed to reason.”

“She’s the Avatar.  There is no reason in her very existence.  What you and I do…it’s _unnatural_ , Tarrlok.  We control things that should not be touched by human hands.  And the Avatar, wielding spiritual control over the people of this world simply by chance of birth…she is an unnatural being, and her existence amounts to nothing more than tyranny.”

Tarrlok frowned.  “So now what?  You keep the Avatar spirit imprisoned inside a non-bender’s body?  But what happens when she dies, and her spirit is reincarnated?”

“That’s why I brought her with us,” Noatak said softly.  “I need to find a way to separate keep the Avatar from ever reincarnating.  I need to find whatever _makes_ the Avatar into herself and I need to destroy it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the revelations in Beginnings have added yet another dimension to what's going to be happening here. I'm excited to see where this takes us!


End file.
